The Harrowing of Hermione Granger
by frodogenic
Summary: After being the recipient of a nasty curse, Hermione is deprived of the use of her writing and wand hand for a month. The catch? NEWTs start in one week… PostDH, canon-compliant.
1. Bad Timing

Author's Note: Well, welcome to my second attempt at Harry Potter fan fic. This one is actually inspired by my own recent experience of dislocating my writing arm just before finals. I wondered how Hermione would have reacted to this predicament, and voila! This emerged. Like most of my other stories, it is being written as I go, without much of a definite end in mind, so don't be surprised if updates come along slowly and sporadically. Mainly about Hermione, with Harry and Ginny thrown in on the side, and will take the form of direct narrative intertwined with letters. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

As usual, the Three Broomsticks was packed. Since the end of the war, business had returned to its customary stratospheric heights. Which was all well and good, of course, unless one wanted some privacy, and one was not particularly keen on descending into the muck of the Hog's Head to get it. Aberforth Dumbledore was an excellent sort, and Harry thought of him quite fondly, but he couldn't be said to have Rosmerta's knack for creating a personable atmosphere. And on a Hogsmeade weekend at the end of April, Madame Puddifoot's wasn't even an option. You'd have to transfigure your own seat if you wanted one (which no sane male did).

Besides, it only brought up memories of Cho. And the last thing Harry was interested in just now was being reminded of his romantic bumblings.

He had plenty of _love_ly obstacles to overcome at the moment without adding to them, thank you very much.

Feeling a little despondent, Harry wrapped both hands around his bottle of butterbeer and surveyed the crowded outdoor benches of the pub through the window of the room Rosmerta had reserved for him, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny every Hogsmeade weekend this school year. Mrs. Weasley had been absolutely adamant about Ron and Ginny going back to Hogwarts to finish. Harry was privately certain that Ron wouldn't have done any such thing if it hadn't been for Hermione.

Of course, there'd never been any question of _Hermione_'s going back. She'd been scandalized when Harry informed her he had no plans to finish seventh year. Harry, quintessential Gryffindor that he was, had endured the wrath of Hurricane Hermione with his resolve intact, but Ron hadn't had a mouse's chance in an owlery of weathering the storm. The poor bloke was far too head-over-heels. He'd barely lasted thirty seconds before caving like a house of cards in an 8.7-magnitude earthquake.

He wasn't as sure why Ginny had decided to go back. But then, he wasn't terribly sure of much when it came to Ginny these days.

It wasn't that she was mad at him—well, not anymore. Merlin, but she'd _been _mad, she had. They'd not even gotten a chance to talk properly until his birthday later in the summer, after all the funerals and memorial services were finally over. He rubbed his cheek ruefully, remembering the birthday present she'd bestowed on him—right in front of the astonished eyes of the whole surviving Weasley clan, she had marched up and slapped him smartly across both sides of his face, swearing a blue streak that would have shamed any sailor in the Queen's Navy.

And what was really bewildering was, _he_ was the one who apologized for it.

Apparently that had been the right thing to do, even though he wasn't entirely sure what he was so sorry for. Everything, maybe, from the Chamber of Secrets to Fred's funeral. In any case, he was pretty sure she'd worked out most of the angry part, or at least the bit that was angry at him. But he knew there was still a long way to go for both of them before they were anything like ready for a relationship beyond catching up at Hogsmeade and the Burrow over holidays. There was plenty of time for that, after all. Right now—well, other things were more important. Things like mourning, rebuilding, spending time with Teddy.

For her part, Ginny was focusing on forging enough good memories at Hogwarts this year to overwhelm the bad ones—skiving off classes, pranking fellow students with Fred-and-George-esque flair, and playing Quidditch. Harry had it on good authority that she was as obsessive a Quidditch captain as ever Oliver Wood had been. He grinned in spite of himself, wishing he could have made it to one of the games this year.

Alas, he had the original Oliver Wood to deal with himself. After the war, he hadn't been sure of anything except that he didn't want to go back to Hogwarts, and he felt too bone-deep exhausted to take Kingsley up on his offer of Auror training immediately. He still thought it was what he wanted to do, but before that, he needed time to unwind, to put the upheaval and stress and loss behind him. Quidditch, he decided, was just the thing.

So, he had signed a one-year contract with Puddlemere. Judging by how much better he felt, it had been the right decision. Maybe another year of flying and he'd be ready to pursue Auror training.

Harry took another more-or-less content sip of butterbeer. He had time now. No need to rush. He had his life all to himself for the first time. He planned to enjoy every moment as it came. He and Ginny—it would come. He'd wait as long as she needed.

Idly he glanced at Fabian Prewett's watch.

Huh. Well, yeah, he could wait, but still—Ron and Hermione and Ginny were usually here by now. Loads of Hogwarts students had already arrived. They were usually among the first. And they'd have sent him a note if they'd gotten detentions.

What could be keeping them?

Nearly the second he thought this, the door of the room suddenly hurled itself open. Harry shot out of his seat and without so much as a single conscious thought blasted a hex through the doorway. Only when the startled, immobilized face of Dennis Creevey registered did he realize there was no danger.

Quickly Harry hurried over to un-Petrify Dennis, who sat up with a groan and rubbed his head where it had knocked on the floor. "Sorry, Dennis," he said with a grimace. "I think I forgot the war's over."

"S'alright, Harry," Dennis managed. "Should've knocked."

Suddenly suspicious, Harry gave him a hand up. "What're you looking for, anyway?"

"You."

"How'd you know—"

"Ginny told me," Dennis cut in, a bit of his old eagerness manifesting. Harry was glad to see it—Hermione had said Dennis was doing better, but it was good to see for himself. "She says you've got to meet her at her brother Bill's house."

Harry frowned. "What? Why?"

"Don't know, Harry, but she said you ought to hurry."

Harry tore out of the room with a hasty thankyou to Dennis, ignoring the excited looks he attracted on his way through the crowded pub below, and Apparated to Shell Cottage without stopping for breath. He tottered for a moment as the world finished spinning, blinked, and saw Ginny's flaming head of hair hurrying his way from the cottage. Glancing to the side, Dobby's grave came in view. Harry suppressed a shiver at the memory of the last time he'd been at this place.

"Harry!" Ginny came up alongside and seized him by the elbow, marching him towards the cottage. "Dennis got you the message, good," he heard her say.

"Why are we here?" Harry got out.

"Well—listen, don't panic, but somebody got hurt."

"What?" Harry screeched. "Who? How serious? When did—"

Ginny stopped, swung around in front of him with an irritated scowl, and smacked his arm. "I said, _don't _panic," she snapped. "It's Hermione—"

"_Hermi_—"

"And it's not serious!" she added, smacking his arm again.

Harry sagged against a nearby fence post, and then his mind caught up with him. "Wait, how come we're here then?" he frowned. "Why not the hospital wing?"

Ginny arched a sage eyebrow at him, thoroughly distracting him from contemplating anything except its exquisite curve. Merlin. He was sure he had excellent reasons to wait for Ginny, but suddenly, none of them were coming to mind…

She was saying something. Harry spent a second appreciating the motion of her mouth before realizing he hadn't heard a word she'd said. _Snap out of it, Potter! _his conscience howled. _You're waiting for her, remember? _"Sorry, what?" he said.

"I said, it's not something Madam Pomfrey can handle," Ginny said, looking a bit exasperated by his lack of attention.

Harry shoved himself up off the fence post. "Then why not St. Mungo's?" he demanded.

"We figure Bill knows more about this sort of thing." Ginny re-captured his elbow and hurried him along again.

"So it's a curse?"

"Well of course, what else would Bill know more about than St. Mungo's?"

Several possible snide answers flitted through Harry's mind before, with a flash of horror, he realized how much they sounded like something Snape would have said. Hence he said none of them, and before he could come up with another reply they were inside the cottage.

"'Allo, 'Arry," Fleur's voice called from above. Harry went a mite goggle-eyed when she descended into view from the staircase. Fleur's slim figure and graceful gait were things of the past—her stomach seemed to arrive in the living room half an hour before the rest of her waddled in behind. He'd heard she was pregnant, of course…but he hadn't known she was _that _pregnant!

"Hi," he said a bit feebly, never having had occasion to interact with anything pregnant before. "How, er, how's the baby doing?"

Fleur beamed. "Oh, 'e eez doing lovely," she said serenely.

"It's a boy, then?" Harry asked curiously.

"No!" Bill's disembodied voice yelled from somewhere in the house. "It's a girl! How're you, Harry?"

"Good," he called. "How d'you know it's a girl?"

"Fatherly intuition!"

Fleur scowled, though half-heartedly. "'E 'as been conveenced for months zat eet ees a girl," she said with fond exasperation. "As eef 'e would know better zan I do! 'Oo does 'e zink 'as been carrying zis baby around for ze last eight months?"

Harry grinned just as a rather frazzled-looking Ron appeared through the door leading to the kitchen. "Oi! Took you long enough to get here! What kept you?"

"Well, I only just heard anything two minutes ago," Harry said indignantly. "Where's Hermione?"

"In the kitchen with Bill," Ron said, grabbing Harry's remaining elbow and towing both him and Ginny to the place in question. In the kitchen, Bill had his wand out and was hovering over Hermione, who was laid out unconscious on the kitchen table, while the leprechaun mascots on his Ireland World Cup jersey watched in fascination.

"I've just got her out while I work in this," he reassured them. "Makes it easier all around."

Harry crept in closer, feeling horrible at the sight of Hermione looking little better than she had the last time they were at Shell Cottage. "You can help her, right?" he asked, hating his voice for wavering.

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," Bill said nonchalantly. "It's a standard Mummifying Curse. They were pretty popular in Egypt several centuries ago, dealt with loads of them while I was down there with Gringotts. It'll take me maybe two hours to get rid of it."

Ron sagged into a chair in relief. Harry, who had just got a look at Hermione's right hand, could see why he'd been so worried—her arm was hideously shrunken and shriveled. Mummifying Curse, indeed. He settled into one of the kitchen chairs to watch, feeling buoyed by Bill's confidence. It might look bad, but Bill knew what he was doing. Ginny perched herself on the chair at the end of the table, idly combing fingers through Hermione's bushy hair.

"She'll be perfectly all right then," Ron sighed.

Bill looked up with a frown. "Well, eventually," he said, weaving his wand in a complex pattern around Hermione's elbow. "The counter-curse takes a while to finish working."

"What d'you mean, a while?" Ginny asked.

"She's not going to be able to use her arm properly for at least a month," Bill said.

"She won't like that," Ginny muttered, but Harry was focused on Ron, who had suddenly gone pale as a ghost, his mouth fluttering helplessly.

"Y'know," Ron said in a strangely high voice, "maybe you just ought to keep her unconscious for the next week. Or maybe—yes, that's it. We'll have to Obliviate her. I'll go get an Obliviator. Or Harry, you get one, they'll do anything for you, you'll have to get Kingsley to loan you one of them, don't suppose you know where his home is, do you, he'll not be in on Saturday—"

"Ron!" Harry hissed, rapping him on the head. "She'll be all right, mate!"

Ron stared at him, face as white as marble. "Oh, no she won't," he squeaked. "Don't you know what's happening in another week?"

Harry was drawing a blank, but Ginny gasped in horror. "Oh, no…"

"What is it?" Harry demanded in consternation.

Staring at him solemnly, Ron and Ginny intoned in unison, "NEWTs."

Harry slowly looked back at Hermione's peacefully unconscious form, feeling his blood drain out through his toes. A Dementor-like chill spread through his bones. Slowly he stood up and began making his way to the front door.

"Where're you going?" Ron yelped.

"I'm Apparating to Australia before Armageddon starts," Harry said firmly.

* * *

Amazingly, Shell Cottage was still standing by the time they Floo'ed back to Hogwarts. This was mostly due to Madam Pomfrey's timely arrival, who stumbled out of the fireplace just before Hermione woke back up and immediately forced a Calming Draught down her throat before she could realize much of anything. By the time they got around to explaining that the counter-curse was going to take a month to repair her arm, she took the news with placid good-humor, not even noticing Ron's nervous twitching.

"Oh…that sounds fascinating…" she sighed drowsily, sounding eerily like Luna Lovegood. "I suppose I ought to look up…well…something…"

Harry watched bemusedly as Madam Pomfrey guided his dazed friend into the fireplace and Floo'ed her back to the school. Ron followed, leaving him in the kitchen with Bill, Ginny having wandered out to talk to Fleur about something or other. "Thanks loads, Bill," he said, even though everybody had already said it about a dozen times apiece.

Bill waved him off. "You don't have to thank me," he said, restoring the kitchen table to its proper dimensions with a flick of his wand. "No debts between friends, not in my book. Besides," he grinned, "I only give it a couple more years before she's properly in the family."

Harry grinned back, even though the idea of his two best mates being married made his stomach twist oddly.

"You too, probably," Bill added mischievously, nodding his head towards the sound of Fleur and Ginny's voices. Harry's stomach twisted even more wildly. He opened his mouth to deny it, but ended up sighing and glancing involuntarily towards the door.

"I hope so," he heard himself say, and could hardly believe his daring in saying it. Suddenly alarmed, he turned back to Bill, trying to think of some way to brush the comment off, but Bill just smiled even wider.

"She'll come around," he said simply.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets awkwardly—how'd he end up discussing his love life with Ginny's oldest brother anyway?—but couldn't help feeling a sort of queasy delight.

"What are you boys talking about in zere?" Fleur demanded, poking her head in the kitchen door.

"Bloke stuff," Bill replied easily, as Harry acted on a sudden burning desire to furiously clean his glasses. Fleur eyed him suspiciously as she walked in, followed by Ginny. Harry cleaned his glasses even more feverishly—no way could he have a proper conversation with Ginny _now_.

"Well," he finally said into the silence, "I suppose I'll Apparate on back to Grimmauld Place, then—"

"Eet ees a 'Ogsmeade day, I zought," Fleur observed in surprise. "Do you all not usually meet at ze Sree Broomsticks?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, "but Hermione'll be taking it easy the rest of the day, and Ron will want to stay with her, I expect."

"I don't," Ginny said suddenly. "Let's head back to Hogsmeade."

Harry fiddled anxiously with his wand. "I, er, I don't think—"

"You don't have anything else to do," Ginny added, with a challenging tone.

"Well, no," Harry admitted. "It's just—I'm not sure it's such a good idea—we won't have much fun—"

"Oh, yes you weell," Fleur told him. "Go on wees Ginny. Besides, you need somezing to take your minds off of all zis." And hardly before Harry knew what was happening, Fleur had shooed them out of the house and Ginny had Apparated them both back to Hogsmeade, near the Shrieking Shack.

And from the flaming look of her eyes, she was angry.

"Look, Harry, if you don't to spend any time alone with me, why don't you just tell me so?" she shouted, jabbing her wand at him.

Harry was taken aback. "That—that's not what I—"

"You've not gone anywhere near me the whole year without Ron and Hermione right beside you," she raged on. "Well, I'm sick of it! If you don't want to be around me, if you want to just keep on the same as it always was with you three, then you can bloody well tell me so!" She shoved him furiously; he tripped over a protruding tree root and fell squarely on his bum, but Ginny didn't stop. "I've been bloody waiting for you since you went and broke up with me because I thought you only did it for some stupid noble reason, but it's been nearly a year since the war ended, a whole bloody _year_, and you _still _haven't said one bloody word to me or even _looked_ like you wanted to, and you know what? I'm bloody well sick of being led on for month after month! So you, Harry James Potter, can bloody well answer me _right now! Do you love me or not?_"

"_Yes!_" Harry yelled, hurtling himself back to his feet.

Ginny stared at him, her expression a wild mixture of fury, happiness, and confusion for one brief instant before she was suddenly enraged all over again. "Then why in Merlin's _ruddy_ name didn't you _bloody_ well _say_ so?" she shrieked.

Only by virtue of his Seeker-fast reflexes was Harry able to dodge her jinx. He ducked, rolled, and came back up feeling quite furious himself. "Be_cause_," he shouted, "I was waiting for _you_!"

Ginny hurled a hex at him; he threw a Shield Charm up and she was forced to duck her own deflected magic. "Why the ruddy hell were you doing that, you git?" she screamed at him. "For another of your _stupid_—_noble_—_delusions_?"

Harry vaporized the sheets of water she blasted at him with three madly exaggerated flicks of his wand. "I thought—you needed—time!" he yelled.

Ginny suddenly froze, and her voice went deathly quiet. "What?" she demanded.

"I thought you needed time to—well—after Fred—"

Glittering tears appeared in her eyes, but Harry forged on. "And Remus, and Tonks, and everything," he added. "I didn't want to rush you! I wanted to give you time." He sat down heavily with his back against the tree whose root he'd tripped over. "You needed—you needed time to just—to come to grips with things—we both did—and you with school—and Teddy—and all the funerals—and rebuilding…" His voice trailed off as he gesticulated helplessly at the air. "You need time," he finally muttered, lamely. "I'm waiting until you're ready."

He stared determinedly at the grass around his feet as silence dragged on.

Then Ginny sank down on the grass beside him. "You're a noble git, you know," she said in a watery voice.

Harry glanced at her. Tear tracks streaked her cheeks. "I've had people tell me that once or twice," he said, making a weak attempt at humor. She smiled shakily.

"I can handle that," she said. "Just so long as you're my noble git."

"I—I wouldn't want to be anybody else's," he mumbled. He was sure they both sounded ridiculously cheesy, but he was equally sure that he didn't care, and Ginny didn't either.

"Not even Cho Chang's?"

"Definitely not Cho Chang's," he said firmly.

"Well," Ginny said, "that's alright then."

They wound up sitting quietly under the tree together for the rest of the afternoon, until Harry glanced at his watch and realized the school curfew was nearly up. "Stupid curfew," Ginny muttered, but she made no further protest as he walked her back to the school gates. They stood there awkwardly for a few minutes before settling on a good-bye hug. A kiss—well, they both hated the word, but they both seemed to feel that that ought to wait a bit longer.

"Tell Hermione to get better quick from me," Harry added as Ginny stepped inside the gates. "And write and tell me how she's doing!"

Ginny laughed suddenly. "Somehow," she smirked, "I think I'll have _plenty _to write about over the next couple weeks."

* * *


	2. Of Spoons and Spiders

A/N: Yes, I know it's a very short update. There probably won't be any more of this story, as inspiration has simply dried up, but I found this bit of it while procrastinating on my Hebrew homework and thought some of you out there might enjoy it. I thought it was funny, anyway. :P No cliffhangers, I promise…

* * *

_To: Harry Potter_

_The Largest Bedroom On The Second Floor_

_12 Grimmauld Place_

_London_

_Dear Noble Git,_

_Yes, I realize I just saw you four hours ago. Thought you might like to know what went on at dinner once I got back, though…_

"Merlin's—bloody—pants!" Ron winced as Hermione hurled her soup spoon to the table, fed up with the way the uncontrollable shaking of her left hand made it impossible for her to keep anything on the spoon. The Calming Draught, alas, had worn off ages ago.

"D'you want me to—"

"No!" she snapped. "I do not need to be spoon-fed like a six-month-old!"

Ginny slid into the bench opposite them, raising her eyebrows at Hermione's thunderous expression. "All right, Hermione?"

Grimly Hermione wrenched her anger under control. She wasn't about to throw a tantrum like a six-month-old, either. "I'm fine," she said stubbornly, and awkwardly wrapped her good fingers around the spoon to give it another go. Of all nights for the house elves to put nothing but soup on the dinner menu!

By dint of extraordinary concentration, she contrived to convey half a spoonful of chowder to its desired destination. The achievement made her feel as triumphant as if she'd just defeated a squadron of Death Eaters single-handedly with a joke wand and a box of Canary Creams.

"Where've you been?" she heard Ron ask Ginny as she focused on retrieving another mouthful of soup from the bowl.

"In Hogsmeade," was the diffident answer. "It _was _a Hogsmeade day, you know."

"Course I know," Ron mumbled. "Just forgot. What with everything."

Hermione felt a sudden burst of guilt for having been cross with Ron. It had been the last of the Hogsmeade weekends, the very last of their school careers, and he'd spent it watching her recover from a curse.

"Oh," Ginny added, turning to her, "Harry says to get better soon."

"I suppose he headed off to see Teddy, then," Ron mused. "Wondered why he didn't come on up to the castle with us."

Ginny shrugged noncommittally, but Hermione saw a glint of tired happiness in her friend's eyes that hadn't been there in a long time. Somehow, she got the feeling that Harry _hadn't _gone straight off to see Teddy. But she'd wait and ask after they were back in the girl's dormitory.

Right now, her soup was demanding her full and undivided attention. Grimly she dipped the quaking instrument into her chowder and watched it begin its treacherous ascent…almost…there…

Which was when Ron suddenly became aware of the large arachnid that had rappelled down from the ceiling, directly in front of his nose.

"_Spiiiiideeeerrrrr!"_

And with truly terrific reflexes befitting Gryffindor's star Keeper, the courageous Ronald Weasley threw himself wholesale to the side, flinging a curse across the table as he did so. The impact threw Hermione's spoonful of chowder directly up into her nose. She lurched forward, clutching at her face with her good hand, and due to the fact that her eyes were scrunched up against a flood of reflexive tears, she did not see her soup bowl in front of her.

Her large, nearly full, magically heated soup bowl, which had been perched as close to her as possible.

With a screech, snorting out chowder, she exploded out of her seat. Beside her Ron fell backwards off the bench, wildly firing curses at the air over the table where the spider swung lazily back and forth on its thread of silk, cheerfully dodging his efforts.

On the other side of the table, Ginny had not been so lucky as the spider. She fell off the bench with a shriek, hit simultaneously by a Bat-Bogey Hex and a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Nearby students dove under the House table, forgetting every aspect of Gryffindor bravery in their efforts to avoid Ron's maddened spellwork. A Confundus Charm soared over Neville and connected squarely with a little Hufflepuff, who spun around in complete distraction for a fateful moment before returning fire…into the Slytherin table.

No one could remember afterward when the Ravenclaws jumped into the fray. But by the time the Headmistress had regained control of the student body, the hospital wing boasted numerous representatives from every House.

_Anyway, I hardly need add that Ron's in rather hot water. Made the mistake of laughing at Hermione all covered in chowder, too, so I imagine he shan't be making especially excellent marks for at least the rest of the week, since there's no way she'll let him copy her notes until he's groveled properly. Actually, I suppose Hermione shan't be taking any notes anyway. Although I wouldn't put it past her to learn to write left-handed by tomorrow morning. _

_Give Teddy a hug for me next time you see him, if you've already left that is. Oh, and could you ask Mum to send us a pudding or something for exams? She'll give you anything. _

_All my love,_

_Ginny_

* * *

_To: Mum_

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St. Catchpoole_

_Dear Mum, _

_I'm so excited! I got Harry all to myself in Hogsmeade this weekend, finally! You were right, after all. But why has he got to be such a noble git all the time? Oh, don't worry, it's not as though we _did _anything, just talked awhile, that's all. It was very nice, even if the Shrieking Shack isn't terribly romantic scenery. Of course I had to positively drag him into it, never would've happened at all if Hermione hadn't got cursed. Honestly, how d'you ever get one of them to make a move on their own for once? The rate it's going I expect you've got to write them a script and set them a timetable before they'll think to propose!_

_Not that I expect we'll get married or anything. Although you know, his parents got married almost right out of Hogwarts. I suppose you think that's much too young. I guess Harry does too, really. He said something about waiting to make sure I was ready. You know—after everything that happened last year. _

_Sometimes he's really a very sweet noble git. _

_Love,_

_Ginny_


End file.
